The other day I too dreamed I was home. Well, I was actually in grandpa’s house with you and Marissa. We ate a three course meal of potatoes. It was lovely.
I’ve been actually thinking about Spencer and Aurora a ton lately—in that I miss them, and I’m mourning that I’ve lost all that time to squish The Aurora with all my love. And upon my return, she’ll not be found living in Utah, much less in our house. She’s so loved. . .
We’re teaching a family that sometimes bicker, but are a good little family that are going to be baptized the 27th of December. He’s petty when he’s hungry, and she’s snappy when the house is dirty. They go to church every Sunday, and the ward loves them. Rosario y Roger.
Speaking of the ward, my piano playing shenanigans continue. Such humiliation. I picked a hymn to sing yesterday that the ward didn’t know and they literally had to be like, ‘hey, can we not sing this?’ in the middle of the song. If this was a college class, I so would have dropped it by now. I literally have no time to practice. It’s disastrous, and I know you’re just so happy, Mother.
By the way, you so don’t have to send me copious amounts of hot chocolate. It’s alright. I’m feeling a bit more rational now. Better to save that money and I buy you all trinkets. Much better, I believe. If you don’t send me anything, this is alright. I think last year you send me copious amounts of peanut butter and salt, and people still call me Lot’s Wife for that one. . .
My companion, Hermana Aliaga, is wonderful. Trunky, but wonderful. The winter weather here is rain in the manana, tarde, y noche every other day. Just a lot of drizzly rain and spouts of blazing, all-consuming sun. Doesn’t even faze me anymore. Unless I wear long sleeves. Totally wore long sleeves yesterday. That was such a questionable decision.
I continue with my Peruvian Mom, who you will SO meet when you guys come down. Her name is Frida and her husband is Ricardo. They’re our light and life down here in the jungle. I had a fever for two days last week and she fluttered and fussed over me, making me tea and tucking me into blankets and giving me food and making me laugh. She’s. . . well, she’s a blessing, simply put. Frida Melendez. She loves me more than any other person in this country does. She has a three year old boy who is so smitten with me. When I was lying on their couch, sweating demasiado, he’d run over and touch my forhead and go running to his mother, quite terribly concerned, ‘Mama, Hermana Coton esta enferma! Tiene Fievre!’ He’s quite diligent in his duties as my suitor. His name is Ephraim.
I’m sorry your new work is stressful and new, but I believe that you can do it, 100 %.
Well, I love you all so much. And I miss you all so much. And I hope all goes well with life over there in Utah.